


Two Bits

by visionshadows



Series: Short Stories and Tiny Tales [8]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Hockey Player(s), Gen, barber shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-26 23:02:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9927971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visionshadows/pseuds/visionshadows
Summary: Sid was a creature of habit.





	

Sid was a creature of habit. He knew this and took all the inevitable teasing with good humor; except about hockey rituals. Those were serious. When his barber retired, Sid tried others. His barber had been out sick once and Sid had to get a haircut. He’d learned not to go to his business partner at the shop. Sid wore a lot of hats after that. 

He went to Mario’s once. The guy was good but Sid felt uncomfortable there. He didn’t want to be around cigar smoke while getting his haircut.

The less said about going to Nealsy’s hairdresser - because he went to a fancy salon - the better. Sid didn’t want highlights or a warm cloth on his face and he definitely didn’t want a wine spritzer with his haircut. 

After that had been the playoffs and there was no cutting his hair until they were over. He cut it as soon as the Flyers beat them, shaving his beard and mustache at the same time. He did it himself, using his trimmers on the longest setting, grimly staring at himself in the mirror as he cut away his hair. 

During the lockout he went to random cheap places wherever he was. Hair Cuttery was decent enough and they didn’t look at him weird. When he was home in Cole Harbour his mom cut it like she had when he was a kid.

After the lockout, Cookie’s wife cut it for him because she cut Cookie’s and while Sid had tried to pretend he liked it, the look of horrified shock on his face pretty much confirmed that he would not be returning for a trim. Cookie had taken pictures and sent them to everyone. Sid was surprised they didn’t end up on Deadspin.

Finally Gonch took pity on him after seeing the disaster Cookie’s wife had called a haircut, telling him if he was going to be so damn picky about who he got a haircut from, he might as well go to the Russians. 

And that’s how Sid found himself outside of a tiny shop in the Russian part of Pittsburgh, holding up his phone to see if the Russian name on the window matched the name of the shop Sergei had sent him. 

The door opened and a tall man with short brown hair looked at him curiously. “I help you?”

Sid flushed and stepped closer. “I’m looking for a barber shop. I have the name,” he shoved his phone at the guy. “Is this it?”

The guy took the phone, looked at it briefly before handing it back to Sid. “Come in. Sergei call ahead. Said nervous guy who not speak Russian need good haircut.”

Sid pocketed his phone, following the guy inside. It was just as small inside as outside, a long narrow shop with three barber chairs and a long sofa on the other side. The shop was clean, well-lit, and smelled of tea. There was the crackle of sports radio playing, not loud at all. Just background. 

“Beer?” asked the guy, leaning over to open a small fridge by the cash register. “Comes with cut.”

Sid looked surprised, but took the offered beer. It wasn’t anything special, just a cold bottle of Bud. He twisted off the cap and took a drink. 

“Thanks.”

“I am Evgeni. You are Sid. Introductions over.” Evgeni motioned to the chair. “You sit.”

Sid did as he was told and pulled off his ball cap. Evgeni made a face, poking at his hair. “Who do this? Must hate you.”

“Co-worker’s wife,” Sid said mournfully. He ran his hand through it, making a face as well. “Never again.”

“I fix,” Evgeni promised. He looked at Sid critically, his brow furrowed and one long finger resting against his lips. Sid did his best not to stare back, but it was hard with Evgeni’s full attention on him. And he had really nice lips.

“Hold beer,” Evgeni said before he promptly spun the chair around and dropped the back down so Sid could lie back. “Wash first.”

Sid followed Evgeni’s lead and moved so his head was in the sink. The water was warm, not too hot or too cold and Evgeni’s long fingers dug into his scalp as he washed Sid’s hair. Sid tried not to moan, biting his lip to keep the sound in, squirming a little. He heard a snort above him and he opened one eye to see Evgeni smirking down at him. 

“Act like no one wash hair before.” Evgeni flicked a little water on Sid’s face. “Not go to good barber.”

“Shut up,” Sid groused, wiping his face. “My barber retired over a year ago. I haven’t found anyone I liked.”

Evgeni made a clucking sound. “Never good.” He turned off the water and scrubbed at Sid’s head with a towel. “Sit up.”

Sid did as he was told, holding onto his beer as the chair creaked back into position. Evgeni immediately went to work, silent as he did his best to salvage Sid’s hair. Sid let him do what he wanted, drinking his beer and looking at the photos on the wall behind Evgeni. 

The radio hosts were talking about the Pens now, discussing their chances for the upcoming season. Sid half-listened as they argued whether he would ever get back to his pre-concussion level of play. He still worried about that himself even though he’d been good so far since the delayed season started up.

“Not worry,” Evgeni said after a moment. “Sid still best.”

“Oh. You know who I am.”

Evgeni snorted again, shaking his head at the same time. “I live here. Love sports. Plus Sergei tell me you coming, remember?”

“Right,” Sid flushed a little. “I guess he would have told you my name.”

Evgeni used his hand to turn Sid’s head, focusing around his ear. “You best hockey player who not Russian.”

“Are you an Ovechkin fan?” asked Sid warily. 

“Ovechkin good, but not best. Datsyuk best.”

“I think Kovalchuk is better,” Sid said as Evgeni tilted his head again. 

“I tell Ilya you think that. He be so happy.”

Sid looked up at him in surprise. “You know Ilya Kovalchuk?”

Evgeni actually laughed this time, not a sarcastic snort. “If Russians come through Pittsburgh to play, they come here for cut. Is well-kept Russian secret. You special, Sidney Crosby. Sergei have to get permission to send you here.”

“Permission from who?” asked Sid. He shifted a little uncomfortably in his chair, wondering if he was going to get yelled at by Ovechkin or Datsyuk the next time they were on the ice for using the special Russian barber.

Evgeni touched his chest lightly. “Me of course.”

“Is it just you here?” asked Sid after an awkward silence fell between them. 

“Uncle retired two years ago. Now he just come visit and cut Khabibulin’s hair because he fussy and not want someone new. I have apprentice.”

Sid finished up his beer, holding it in his hands as Evgeni pulled back to look at him, turning Sid’s chair to look at the back again. 

“Okay. You finished. I book you again for four weeks. $14.95.”

Sid blinked as Evgeni took the his empty beer bottle and pulled the cape off. He got to his feet, turning to look in the mirror. The cut was excellent. Sid ran his fingers through his hair, turning a little to look at the side. 

“Wow.”

“I know. I best,” Evgeni said as he threw the bottle out. “Cash or credit?”

Sid fished out his wallet. “Cash.” He took out a twenty, looking at Evgeni. “It’s really only $14.95?”

Evgeni raised an eyebrow. “Is haircut. If you want shave next time, you pay me $20.” 

“Okay,” Sid said, handing him the twenty. “Keep the change.”

Evgeni rang up the sale, handing Sid his receipt before pulling out a heavy appointment book. He turned the pages to four weeks, running his finger over the days. He marked Sid down before writing him a reminder card. 

“Four weeks. Not let it get out of control.”

Sid took the card, looking at it. “I don’t get to pick when?”

Evgeni narrowed his eyes. “I very busy.”

Sid looked around the empty shop. “Sure.”

Evgeni snorted again, moving from behind the counter to push Sid towards the door. “I not usually open today. Shop usually full. I told you you special. Now go. Don’t lose card. I don’t call to remind you.”

“Thanks,” Sid said as he was ushered out the door and back onto the street. He blinked in the sunshine and kind of wondered what just happened.


End file.
